Politicians love to complain about special interests, doctors about patients who dismiss preventive care, and publishing drones about unsolicited manuscripts: the slush pile. In the comments to that post, some readers find it suspicious that literary agents find a greater proportion of usable material in slush piles than do publishing houses. I find it eminently plausible. Writers who know that agents are useful are probably less insane, on average, than writers who submit directly to publishers. Such writers would also try to find agents who would fit them, instead of scattershooting manuscripts at unsuitable but famous publishers.

I had a lovely dinner at Town Hall (Howard and Fremont, downtown SF) on Friday night with a few acquaintances. One asked me what sort of stuff I'd like to write, were I to write for a living. I find it hard to imagine writing longform well, but right now, I can chug along writing one column a week, and if it were a fulltime job I could probably squeeze out three a week that would be worth reading. I have a lot of practice and life experience left to go before I could be a powerhouse like Jon Carroll, who finds something interesting to say and a clever way to say it five times a week.

Anyway, I'm building a clips file and exercising my various writing muscles. So, on the day I have to send something for consideration, solicited or no, reputation and talent (and connections?) will help. Also, someday there will be a thriving "non-white, non-black woman who can make funny" niche, the way we currently have "white woman writing poignantly and humorously about middle-class single women's romantic mishaps" and "non-white man or woman writing soulfully and magical-realistically about food and love" niches.